


Give and take. Life and death.

by janboy



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Dismemberment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:13:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janboy/pseuds/janboy
Summary: Wolf learned that Lord Kuro was still alive, and within Ashina Castle. He will stop at nothing to be at his master's side once more.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Give and take. Life and death.

Wolf was taught from a young age that life was a cycle of give and take. To give was to devote yourself entirely to another. What was worth giving if not your own life? What was life, if not to bind yourself eternally to protect another at the cost of your own? 

And to take... It was to rip life itself from the souls of those who threatened your devotion. To take was to steal a person’s last breath from their throat, in a fountain of their own blood. 

Wolf was taught not to flinch. He was taught not to blink or turn away from the carnage that this cycle wrought upon man. His father, Owl, christened him in the ways of chaos and death on their first encounter by baptizing him in his own blood by pressing the edge of his blade against Wolf’s face. Even then, the starving, stray cub, did not blink. From that moment, with year after year of mental and physical training, the Iron Code ranked above life and death itself. 

It was ingrained in Wolf’s mind that his life was one to be given. He would kill, and he would die, both at Kuro’s command and for Kuro’s well-being. Wolf’s duty was to fulfill his role in the cycle of give and take until he drew his last breath. 

But, what was Wolf’s place when the blood that courses through his veins refuses to release him in that ultimate sacrifice? 

These were the thoughts that ran through his mind as darkness crept into the corners of his vision. Blood trickled down the corners of his mouth, both his hands were clasped around the spearhead that protruded through his stomach. Slowly, he craned his neck back to look over his shoulder at the Ashina spearman who had got the jump on him. The man’s hair was jet black, greasy with dirt and sweat, loosely kept in a bun at the top of his head. 

_ How had he not seen him? _

Wolf felt a sharp kick against his back, then he was falling. 

_ These thoughts, distractions.  _

His cheek collided with the dirt. He felt his own blood pooling beneath his stomach. Half-curled fingers dug into the dirt and grass to his sides. 

_ A distracted mind is a weak mind. Do not be fooled by doubt and illusions.  _

Wolf’s body grew numb. A ring of pain lined his stomach and his back, it was a dull, dying flame. Each dying beat of his darkened heart sounded like distant thunder in his ears, or was that the sound of footsteps around him? The voices of the remaining soldiers were muffled to Wolf’s ears. Too far, too distant. Wolf’s eyes fluttered briefly, then slowly closed with one final exhale. 

_ Lady Butterfly told him that. Amidst the flames and crashing walls of the Hirata Estate, she lectured Wolf like he was still a child, as though they fought and danced this deadly song of steel like another spar. He didn’t understand then. Doubt and confusion reigned over his mind as he cut his way through the estate grounds. He waded through a river of blood, a dam that burst from the cuts of his blade, only to find that the person in the way of his ward was his very own mentor.  _

_ Why? He had said to her. Her response was cryptic, the laugh that followed was all too familiar. It wasn’t a student’s place to question their mentor, their elder. And so Wolf drew his blade and fought.  _

_ All this bloodshed. This take, and take, and take, and take. It was for Kuro. There he stood, hiding behind one of the remaining pillars which supported the estate’s basement. Wolf approached him, and that was the first time that Wolf had been pulled into death’s maw, and then slipped out between its teeth.  _

_ Kuro. It was all for Kuro.  _

Breath came back into his lungs through a shaky, silent inhale. Wolf cracked opened his eyelids enough to see the sun’s weak rays as it crept closer and closer to the horizon. He felt his clothes sticking to his chest, logged with his own blood. And beneath the skin, in his guts and stomach, he could feel his innards twist and turn. Whereas the looming embrace of death was natural and brought with it a small amount of comfort to Wolf, this repair of his flesh and organs was anything but. 

The blood of the Divine Heir-- it would not let him rest. Not until he had taken enough, not until his lord deemed it so. 

Wolf remained in place and strained his ears. As life itself reignited his corrupted soul, so to did his senses come back to him, slowly. He could hear voices ahead of him, a bit of a distance away. Discreetly, Wolf shifted his right hand downwards, inch by inch. There, his fingertips touched against the kashira of his katana. It was still there, lives still had to be taken. 

Wolf slid his right hand further down and he wrapped it about the handle of his katana. He pushed himself up with his left hand, that contraption of wood, metal and bone, and he rose out of the crater of his own blood and mud. His clothes were ruined, a large patch of mud was caked to his cheek, he could taste dirt on his tongue. He ignored it all. They were distractions, his own comfort and state did not matter. Slowly, with his knees bent and his footfalls silent, Wolf crept forward. 

The tall grass did well to hide Wolf’s form. He was always small for his age, and adulthood did nothing to grant him any sort of imposing stature. It served to his advantage here, where his height paired with the deftness of a trained Shinobi allowed him to flit between the terrain like a wraith-- a revenant was more fitting. Behind him, Wolf had dispatched four Ashina soldiers before he was killed. They lay in an unceremonious circle about a snuffed campfire. The survivors, the three men which Wolf was now stalking towards, paid no mind to retrieve their fallen comrades. In times of war, and a bleak one such as this, honor was often left to the wind. 

The three survivors were only fifteen or so feet ahead of Wolf. They looked to be headed towards one of the handful of scattered outposts which were constructed in the fields surrounding the Ashina Castle. These posts were the first lines of defense for the Ashina faithful from the warring factions that consumed Japan. They were also the first major hurdles that Wolf had to face before he could reunite with Kuro. 

From between the lilies and grass, Wolf saw that this outpost was one of the less impressive ones. Shoddy wooden walls were uneven, the gate itself had one of the doors half-splintered and unhinged, the tents looked to be vacant of supplies, and a wooden shed was locked and had its windows boarded. 

The three soldiers sauntered towards the open gates, nearly leaving the patch of high grass that they and Wolf shared. Wolf increased his pace, he held his katana tightly in a reverse grip so that the blade pointed downwards. The distance between himself and the nearest soldier was now but a mere handful of feet. Wolf could see this soldier held a spear at his side, the blade of it was still covered a crimson red. He craned his neck back and looked up to see that familiar mop of greasy hair atop their head. 

_ Take. Take and take. _

Wolf reached upward and grabbed a handful of the man’s hair. He instantly let out a yelp of surprise, but it was cut short by Wolf dragging his katana across the front of his throat. The man coughed, gasped, and sputtered. His hands shot up and clasped over his open neck, blood flowed between his fingers tips and gushed out like haphazard strokes of a brush across the lilies, red on white. The man looked over his shoulder at Wolf, his eyes were frantic and panicked. He coughed, sputtered, flecks of his spittle and blood landed on Wolf’s face. How bleak it was, to suffocate and drown on your own blood. 

Wolf pushed the dying man at his companion, and turned to the right to face the third soldier, who had already drawn his sword and thrusted it towards Wolf’s ribs. Wolf raised his foot and stomped it across the top of the blade. The man’s momentum yanked him downwards as his sword was now pinned beneath Wolf’s foot. Wolf didn’t waste a breath. He took another step forward, along the length of the soldier’s blade, then he swiped his katana across the soldier’s chest. A diagonal line of red opened along the path of Wolf’s blade. Blood poured out, like a sack bursting from the weight of its contents. The soldier dropped to his knees. He looked dazed, awestruck that his life would quickly be extinguished, just like that. 

A quiet thud, cushioned by grass and flowers, marked another life that Wolf had taken. Blood, blood, it soaked the grass beneath his feet, it clung to his legs, it plastered itself across his skin, it seeped into his very pores. Wolf blinked, his breath caught, for a moment, he felt as though his own blood was oil. Oil pumped through his arteries (oh how Wolf knew which ones to cut, which ones to sever to cause the greatest flows of blood), oil pumped through his body ready to be ignited by a simple spark. 

The flames, the flames were coaxed by the constant take and take and take. Wolf was destroying the balance. All he did was Take. 

  
Even when he died, again, and again, his body would take the breath of those around him. He remembered the maid. She was one of the few survivors of the Hirata Estate raid, and it was Wolf’s death and resurrection that claimed her life. 

Dragonrot. That was the toll that Wolf had to pay every time that he tried to give his own life, rather than to continue to take. 

He was torn from his thoughts by the sound of a guttural roar. Wolf turned towards the outpost, and he saw the last surviving soldier by the door of the shed. From within the shed, Wolf could hear even from this distance, the sound of roaring and pounding against the walls. The soldier was struggling to pull the wooden board that kept the door closed. 

Wolf flicked his wrist to the side, blood slid off of his blade, and then he sprinted towards the man. 

As the distance between Wolf and the soldier closed from a hundred feet to fifty, he saw the man finally get the board free and toss it to the ground. A split second later, the doors of the shed were thrown open and the soldier was knocked to the ground. Another roar ripped through the air, and an ogre stepped out. The crazed beast snapped its head downwards towards the sniveling soldier who was scrambling backwards on his hands and knees. The ogre shot its hand out and wrapped it around the soldier’s leg. 

The soldier shrieked as he was held up in the air, and then his shrieks only increased in volume as the ogre wrapped his other hand around his neck, then began to pull the soldier apart. 

Wolf’s sprint did not slow at the grisly scene. He had seen men cut, crushed, torn, burnt, drowned, and eviscerated into nothing more than bloody clumps. This display, it was nothing to him. Wolf’s eyes remained narrowed, his muscles tight, his footsteps quick, even as the ogre ripped the man into two and let the blood and guts of his innards splash over his head and torso. 

The ogre easily reached fifteen feet tall. It snapped its head, with a massive and crooked nose, bloodshot eyes, and blackened teeth towards Wolf’s direction, and another scathing roar disrupted the air beneath the dusk-light sky. The ogre reared its arm back, and threw the upper half of the soldier’s torso at Wolf. The shinobi stepped to the side without blinking, a stray piece of skin and patch of blood smacked against his arm as he continued to sprint towards the ogre. Another throw, and the man’s legs were tossed towards Wolf. 

Wolf sprinted, waited, then dropped into a slide. The dismembered legs flew over his head, and Wolf’s momentum shot him between the ogre’s bent legs. Mid-slide, Wolf raised his right arm and plunged his katana into the ogre’s leg, and he held tightly onto the handle of his sword, using the pivot to pull his body in a hook-like direction. The ogre howled and dropped to a knee, and Wolf planted one foot against the ogre’s ankle, and then vaulted himself up its leg, pulling his sword free and then plunging it into the ogre’s body again. 

Wolf’s katana dug into the ogre’s waist, and again it howled and twisted its body viciously, trying to throw Wolf off and reach around his back. 

Though his sword had dug into its flesh, the puncture wasn’t deep enough to be a substantial wound. He had to puncture it completely, it was the only way to bring the beast down. 

Clinging to the ogre’s back, Wolf pulled his katana out again, and thrust it into the ogre’s back, higher up again. Then, with the katana’s handle as his grip, Wolf brought his legs up, gathered all the strength he had in his muscles, and then he vaulted himself upwards.

Wolf took one step, the first which was along the katana’s handle. A second step, light as a feather, against the base of the ogre’s thrashing neck. The third step was brief, but powerful. Wolf planted his foot against the base of the ogre’s head, then he pushed himself off with all the strength he could muster into a backflip. For a brief moment, the wind caressed his cheeks, he was weightless. Wolf turned his body in mid-air, until his head was pointed downwards, and the ogre itself was about ten feet beneath him. 

This time, Wolf extended his left arm. There was a snap, click, and the whistle of rope being propelled from his prosthetic. The rope shot out from the mechanical chamber, and it wrapped once, twice, a third time around the ogre’s throat, before it suddenly locked into place and Wolf pulled himself downwards at a breakneck pace. 

In those few seconds that Wolf had before he collided with the ogre’s back, he brought his legs upward and bent his knees against his chest. 

Ten feet became five, five became one, and with all the velocity from the grapple pushing him forward, the balls of Wolf’s feet collided with the pommel of his katana, and it shot straight through the ogre’s back and through the front of its torso. 

Blood burst from the open wound, and the ogre teetered to the left, then to the right, all the while howling like a wounded animal. Wolf quickly leapt off its back and landed in the grass to the side. He heard the ogre howl once more, before a loud thud preceded gradual silence. Wolf took a moment to gather himself. 

_ Inhale, hold it, exhale. _

He rose from his crouch and walked towards his sword. It was just a few feet to his left, the blade was buried a couple inches into the dirt. The steel and handle was coated completely in blood. Midway up the blade, the ogre’s heart slid slowly down its length. Massive and bloody, it pumped both red and black ooze from its various ventricles. 

Wolf’s lips drew into a scowl, and he pulled his sword from the dirt, planting his foot on the heart and pinning it to the ground while he freed his blade. 

He turned around, and with the last rays of the sun being cast across the horizon, Wolf faced the massive gates of Ashina Castle. There, that’s where Lord Kuro is. Wolf cleaned the length of his blade in the nook of his arm, and sheathed it. 

_ Give and take. For Lord Kuro, I will take and take and take. _

Wolf exhaled softly, then walked forward.

**Author's Note:**

> If you read this far, thank you! I love Sekiro so much and I really wanted to finally write something for it. Feel free to let me know what you thought about this!


End file.
